Arrival in Rome--Hotel de la Ville--The Corso--The Strangers' Quarter--
Roman Guides--View from the Capitol--"How are the Mighty fallen!"--The
sculpture-gallery of the Capitol--The Dying Gladiator--The Venus--
Hawthorne's Marble Faun--Bambino Santissimo--The Mamertine Prison--The
Forum--Palaces--The Coliseum--Longfellow's "Michael Angelo."
Travelling by the slow second-class train, we did not arrive at Rome
until nearly 11 p.m.; yet the journey proved interesting, especially as
we approached our destination. The stillness of night increased the
impressive awe that inspired us as we neared the "Eternal City." It was
not only cold and dark, but foggy; and we could see very little;
conjecture, however, was busy as we caught, through an occasional gleam
of light, the shadows of outlying monuments and ruins. As we crossed the
silent-rolling Tiber, and the reverberations of the railway bridge smote
on our ears with a hollow, sepulchral sound, we felt, almost with a
shiver, that we were entering a city of the dead.
The fog was extremely cold and penetrating, striking one almost like the
malaria, and we were glad to get to the well-lighted station, and mingle
with the cheerful animated crowd on the platform, and did not even feel
the intrusive hotel omnibus-conductors a nuisance, but gladly consigned
ourselves to the guidance of one, and drove away. However, we soon found
that Rome was _Imperial_ in her charges. The first hotel wanted from ten
to twelve francs for a bedroom per night, the second likewise.
Ultimately we were safely housed about midnight in the Hotel de la
Ville, in the Piazza del Popolo, at the head of the Corso. Though
perhaps a little out of the way, and less conveniently situated than the
more central hotels in the Piazza di Spagna, it has many advantages in
comfort, is quiet and moderate in charge, and close to the English
church.
This Hotel de la Ville was once the palace and museum of the Marquis
Campana. It is surrounded by so-called "English gardens," beautifully
decorated with columns, statues, fountains, and orange trees full of
golden fruit.
The next morning, on rising, we felt the dream of many years was at last
realized!
"Thou art truly a world, O Rome!" says Goethe; and we indeed felt it so,
as, having breakfasted, we sallied forth, eager to begin our
explorations. Our first visit was naturally to the English bookseller's,
where we purchased a guide-book. A plan of Rome may always be obtained
at one's hotel, and it is well to study the streets, etc., and arrange
one's campaign of sight-seeing. A good way is to begin by visiting the
nearest objects of interest, which can be accomplished on foot; then to
make use of the omnibus; and finally, of the carriages, for more distant
places outside the walls. These latter are cheap enough, as you may
drive from one end of Rome to the other for a franc.
The Corso, the main street in the city, is very narrow, and about a mile
in length. Starting from the Piazza del Popolo, it extends to the foot
of the Capitol. Most of the shops are situated here, and when lined with
fashionable carriages, it is very crowded, particularly just outside the
_cafés_. The other principal thoroughfares are the Strada del Babbuina,
ending in the Piazza di Spagna; and the Strada di Ripetta, leading to
the Tiber. Most of the streets converge into the Piazza di Venezia,
where is situated the tramway station, from which omnibuses run to all
parts of the town. This corner of the city is usually known as the
"Stranger's Quarter." Groups of military men were lounging about, and
blocking the pavements, characteristically indulging in _dolce far
niente_ aided by the eternal cigarette; indeed, the whole population
appear to smoke all day long; both wine and tobacco being too cheap and
plentiful for the good of the people.
I believe there are very few _good_ guides in Rome--few at least who do
their duty conscientiously, and with interest, but all asking some
twelve francs a day, just to ride about with you and smoke innumerable
cigarettes. A really good guide is worth securing, and saves much time,
trouble, and expense, besides giving most valuable information
sometimes. On the first day, we were lucky enough to pick up one of the
right sort, with a toga, cloak, and Roman profile; but unfortunately his
pronunciation of English was such a jargon we were quite unable to make
head or tail of it, especially when most eager to obtain some
information of interest, which he was willing and even anxious to
convey.
He took us to the top of the Capitol--at least, I accompanied him to the
very flagstaff; but it was blowing so tempestuously that my wife was
obliged to be content to remain a flight of steps below, and, being the
hour of noon, the great bell (which Garibaldi struck when he called the
Romans "to arms") boomed out twelve mighty strokes with its immense
clapper, and nearly deafened her. The wind was so strong that I had to
take off my hat and cling to the parapet. But how interesting was the
panorama that met my gaze! Right over the Eternal City beneath me, and
far away beyond the plains around it, lay that great range of bare
mountains over which, in the day of her distress, poured Rome's Gothic
enemies, in wild and overwhelming hordes. Wasted and enfeebled by the
constant drain made on her resources to supply the many provinces of her
fair empire, her very vitals insidiously sapped and impoverished by the
selfish luxury and vice to which her pagan civilization had brought her,
what wonder that she fell an easy prey. Yet the heart still yearns over
her in her mighty fall, and as I looked, and caught the enthusiasm of my
Roman guide, the lament of Byron rose to my lips:
"O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye
Whose agonies are evils of a day!--
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.
"The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless, and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago:
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.
"The Goth, the Christian, time, war, flood, and fire
Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride;
She saw her glories star by star expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,
Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site:--
Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void,
O'er her dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, 'Here was, or is,' where all is doubly night?
"Alas! the lofty city! and alas!
The trebly hundred triumphs! and the day
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away!
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay,
And Livy's pictured page! but these shall be
Her resurrection; all beside--decay.
Alas, for earth, for never shall we see
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free!"
Around lay the seven hills on which Rome was originally built. The
Capitoline, on which I was standing, the Palatine, Quirinal, Coelius,
Aventine, Esquiline, Viminal. Some of them appeared merely green mounds,
the remains of the wonderfully strong and ancient walls, and here and
there the broken outline of some palace of the great Cæsars. Immediately
beneath us lay the mighty Coliseum, the Forum, and other monuments of
Rome's ancient grandeur and departed glory. Away to the north-west,
across the muddy, silent Tiber, lay decaying papal Rome, crested by the
dome of St. Peter's and the Vatican. Again, to the north-east, right
over ancient Rome, and towards the Quirinal and Esquiline hills, young
Italy, emancipated and free, her national flag floating in the breeze
from the palace of the king. It was a grand and impressive sight, and
one never to be forgotten.
On descending from the tower, we passed through storehouses filled with
broken remains of figures, capitals, plinths, and other fragments
disentombed from the Forum, etc. The three palaces which comprise the
principal buildings of the modern Capitol were designed by Michael
Angelo, and form three sides of a square. In the centre stands the noble
equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius. The open side faces the modern
part of Rome. The palace on the left side, or Capitoline Museum, as it
is called, contains one of the finest collections of sculpture in Italy.
It is quite a day's work to see it properly, but we had to be content
with an hour or two.
Here we saw that most noble and pathetic presentment of Death, grappled
with, and almost conquered, in the statue of the Dying Gladiator. The
right arm was restored by Michael Angelo, and the guide informed me that
by general agreement it should have been brought a little more forward,
and that the great sculptor, although aware of it, was unable for some
reason to restore it in this way. I think, however, that his conception
as resting, must be the right and natural posture, as the wounded man
seems to depend on the support of that arm entirely, while struggling in
the agonies of death. You may almost see the moisture on his manly brow,
while in the intensely expressive face you catch glimpses of that
lifetime which is passing across his memory in the space of a
moment--thoughts of the wife and little ones in that far-away home to
which he will never return. It is a fine subject, exquisitely conceived
and executed, and worthily described in Byron's two immortal stanzas.
Upstairs, in a small rotunda-shaped temple, enshrined in a niche in the
wall, we saw that most beautiful conception of womanhood, known as the
Venus of the Capitol. She appears as though suddenly disturbed while
taking her bath, and the expression of frightened innocence and maiden
shame upon the face, and the graceful shrinking attitude of the limbs,
form a picture of perfect purity and loveliness. The guide turned the
figure upon its pedestal so that we might catch the beauty of its curves
and soft outline, and though the action seemed half profane, rudely
disturbing one's semi-entranced admiration, I did not until then catch
the full beauty of "the statue that enchants the world." An almost
living memorial of the "Age of Beauty," there seems in this one radiant
figure to be enfolded the whole wealth of love and loveliness that
distinguished so richly those times when--
"Human hands first moulded, and then mocked
With moulded limbs, more lovely than its own,
The human form, till marble grew divine."
Yet one other masterpiece of ancient art we eagerly looked for was the
marble Faun of Praxiteles, around which the graceful genius of Nathaniel
Hawthorne has woven such a delicate web of romance, the figure itself
being inimitably described in the opening chapter. But this and other
immortal works are made familiar to us by so many gifted writers, that I
need but to mention their names to conjure them in all their beauty to
the eye of the intelligent reader, who instantly recalls to mind some
beautiful passage in poetry or prose, to which any words I could pen
would be superfluous. "All men are poets by nature," but "adequate
expression is rare;" and though a vivid sense of beauty and a passionate
appreciation of the grand and sublime is open to all, yet to genius
alone it is given to clothe the fleeting thought with words of haunting
music, which shall live as long as the idea that gave them birth.
Close by the museum is the Church of Santa Maria di Ara Coeli,
ascended by some 124 steps. Here we were reverently ushered by a monk
into a little chapel, to see the Santissimo Bambino. After opening the
shutter, he approached the altar, and from an iron door in the top drew
out a drawer, inside which was a box; from this he carefully lifted out,
reverently crossing himself as he touched it, a doll of wax or painted
wood, supposed to be an image of the Infant Jesus. The legend runs, that
an angel appeared in the porch of the church at midnight, and, ringing
the bell, flew back to heaven, leaving the image of the Sacred Babe to
the care of the church, just as a poor child is dropped at the door of a
foundling hospital. The doll is literally covered with jewellery, and
diamond-rings, and other gems and trinkets, sewn into its dress, the
offerings of its misguided devotees. It is said that the priests at the
church "farm" this Bambino, and make a good income by exhibiting it,
letting it out on special occasions for large profits. Leave the priests
alone for their ability to work on the ignorance and credulity of the
people! It is sometimes carried to the houses of the sick, being
supposed to possess miraculous healing properties. After duly displaying
this treasure, the monk carefully replaced it, locking it up with a
profound sigh.
This is only one of the many wonderful relics that are shown, and absurd
legends that are told, and one hardly knows whether to treat with pity
or contempt the ignorant credulity shown by the lower orders of Roman
Catholics and their priesthood.
Between the Capitol and the Forum is the Mamertine prison, where among
other illustrious captives were confined Jugurtha, Sejanus, and the
Catiline conspirators; St. Paul, too, noblest of men, was here held in
durance vile, and Popish tradition says St. Peter also. Passing through
a little church, we were lighted down into a dark dungeon, and below
this found another, communicating by narrow stone steps; but it is said
the poor prisoners were _dropped_ from the one to the other through a
hole or trap-door. They were confined below until sentenced to death,
when they were brought up the steps to the dungeon above, where they
were executed, and their bodies thrown out for the satisfaction of the
people thronging the Forum. There is a dint in the stone wall where it
is said St. Paul's head was battered by his inhuman gaoler; this, though
it sounds improbable enough, is gravely related as a fact. A
subterranean passage extends to a considerable distance, which I
penetrated as far as I was able, till a cold blast of air, evidently
from the river Tiber, almost extinguished my candle, and the guide
shouted to me to return.
It is remarkable how much lower that part of ancient Rome surrounding
the Forum lies compared to the rest of the city--certainly from ten to
fifteen feet. Modern or mediæval Rome seems in some instances to be
partially built over the older portion. Why this should have been, it is
difficult to say. New and interesting excavations are made continuously,
and I could have remained here the live-long day, watching the gradual
disentombment of the beautiful columns, statuary, and other long-buried
mementoes of Rome's past greatness--and, as her foundations were laid
bare, rebuilding and repeopling, according to my own ideal fancies, this
great temple of eloquence. "What men have crossed the shadows of these
very columns! What thoughts that have moved the world were born beneath
them!" Scene after scene rose to my mind which had been enacted in this
very spot, one fair vision standing out like a star from the
rest--Virginia, "the sweetest maid in Rome," in her white garments, as
though prepared for the sacrifice, satchel in hand, tripping with "her
small glancing feet along the Forum," and up the sacred street from the
schools, the remains of which may still be seen cavernlike.
After all, what is left of Rome's greatness? A few broken columns only?
Surely not. We are still as deeply moved as ever by the history of her
mighty rise and fall; the world still acknowledges the governing wisdom
of her imperishable laws, and is still benefited by the inspiring
example of her noble men and virtuous women. But the true "Eternal City"
must be looked for elsewhere than in the most powerful of pagan nations.
This indeed must have solaced the little fraternity of Christians at
ancient Rome, when so cruelly persecuted: and what a glorious triumph is
theirs now!
We did not omit to pay a visit to the palaces of the Cæsars, which lie
clustered above and about the Forum. It is rather difficult to
understand how the Romans obtained sufficient light for their dwellings,
the rooms being generally small, and without external windows. What
there was, however, usually came from above, as the courts were open;
and also by radiation, the large marble tanks in these courts being
filled with water, on which the descending light smote, and was
dispersed around. There is a subterranean passage leading from the
palaces to the Coliseum, which was made use of by the emperor and his
suite for their transit thither; and a terribly anxious little journey
that must often have been to the great Cæsars.
The grand old Coliseum still rears its crumpling walls proudly towards
the skies, though almost two-thirds lie in ruins. The centre has been
filled in with earth, so that we scarcely see the original bottom, but
there is sufficient left to show clearly to what use this great
amphitheatre was put. One intelligent guide points out the evidences of
formerly existing hydrants, which had led to the Tiber, and thus flooded
the lower part with water for the exhibition of mock naval engagements.
Then, when the water was let out again, great scaffolding poles were
inserted into stone sockets, and a platform suspended on a level with
the dens, from which the wild beasts were let into the arena. And here
the gladiators fought, and the Christians and criminals were torn to
pieces, to make sport for the countless multitude sitting, crowded tier
upon tier around, while the blue heavens looked down on the inhuman and
bloody sight, and the poor martyr Christians, fearlessly awaiting their
doom, sighed upwards, "How long? how long?" We could also see the
trap-doors from whence buffoons were hoisted on to the stage. To trace
all this was interesting, though it saddened one to reflect on all the
horrors that had been enacted here. Much of the brickwork had evidently
been veneered with slabs of marble, most of which has now disappeared;
but it rather puzzled me to see so many great chips made in certain
parts of the marble columns. Our guide, however, informed me that they
had bars of iron in the centre, and it was to obtain this iron for
making into spear-heads for the defence of Rome that the marble was so
broken and chipped at the joints--an inglorious ending truly for these
witnesses of past splendour!
It has been said that Byron's celebrated description of the Coliseum is
better than the reality; that "he beheld the scene in his mind's eye,
through the witchery of many intervening years, and faintly illumined it
with starlight instead of the broad glow of moonshine." Be this as it
may, the noble stanzas are all too well known to bear further quotation.
The reader may possibly be less acquainted with the fine lines on the
subject, which Longfellow has put in the mouth of Michael Angelo, in the
fragmentary tragedy of that name lately published in America:
"Tradition says that fifteen thousand men
Were toiling for ten years incessantly
Upon this amphitheatre.
Behold,
How wonderful it is! The queen of flowers,
The marble rose of Rome! Its petals torn
By wind and rain of twice five hundred years;
Its mossy sheath half rent away, and sold
To ornament our palaces and churches,
Or to be trodden under feet of man
Upon the Tiber's bank; yet what remains
Still opening its fair bosom to the sun,
And to the constellations that at night
Hang poised above it like a swarm of bees.
"The rose of Rome, but not of Paradise;
Not the white rose our Tuscan poet saw,
With saints for petals. When this rose was perfect
Its hundred thousand petals were not saints,
But senators in their Thessalian caps,
And all the roaring populace of Rome;
And even an Empress and the Vestal Virgins,
Who came to see the gladiators die,
Could not give sweetness to a rose like this.
The sand beneath our feet is saturate
With blood of martyrs; and these rifted stones
Are awful witnesses against a people
Whose pleasure was the pain of dying men.
"Look at these walls about us and above us!
They have been shaken by earthquakes, have been made
A fortress, and been battered by long sieges;
The iron clamps, that held the stones together,
Have been wrenched from them; but they stand erect
And firm, as if they had been hewn and hollowed
Out of the solid rock, and were a part
Of the foundations of the world itself.
... A thousand wild flowers bloom
From every chink, and the birds build their nests
Among the rained arches, and suggest
New thoughts of beauty to the architect."